


Room Service

by BluePassion



Series: Fire Emblem Erotica [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Clothing Kink, Dom/sub Undertones, F/F, Is this the first fic on here of the two of them???, No discussion of proper BDSM things, Slightly - Freeform, Spanking, cfnf
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-20
Updated: 2019-08-20
Packaged: 2020-09-18 22:23:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,848
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20320474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BluePassion/pseuds/BluePassion
Summary: Ingrid takes Bernadetta’s lack of training seriously.(Based solely off their C support, but with a perverted twist.)





	Room Service

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuses but I hope you have fun. If you did, leave a comment!

The darkness of the room wrapped around her as soon as the door was shut, comforting her like the deep navy blanket she kept on her bed. 

She shrugged out of her uniform’s jacket, tossing the black garment over the back of her chair. She sighs, something small and dreamy, and the noise gets swallowed up by the darkness. Then she squirms out of her pants, tossing them on the chair as well, until she’s in nothing but her underclothes.

She grabs at the top drawer of her desk, tugging it open and pulling out a small black journal. She smiles as she hugs it to her chest with one arm, quickly closing the drawer behind her, grabbing a quill.

Climbing into bed she wraps the navy blanket around her, sinking onto the mattress, thin limbs curled up around her journal.

The crinkle of the ink filled pages makes her smile again, and she takes a moment to read through some of the pages. 

The blonde man smirked, using the butt of the heavy lance in his hand to push the yellow clad archer against the wall. They’re both covered in sweat, inches apart, and still Claude finds the time to smirk and tease the prince, which earns him a haughty, heavy-

A knock at her door, heavy and hard. Probably the new professor trying to get her to come out. Or worse: another student! 

She coughs into her hand, clearing her throat, before speaking up. She does her best to make herself sound sick, but she probably just sounds confused. “I...I don’t feel good. I can’t come out right now, I’m sorry!” 

She waits to hear the person on the other side leave but, when they don’t, she coughs again. 

Bernadetta can hear them pacing outside. Small, precise, steps- back and forth, back and forth. The pattering isn’t loud, but it’s there, and it punctures through the dark quiet of her bedroom. 

Bernadetta doesn’t say anything else and neither do they. If the other person wants to stay outside that’s their business- she’ll be inside, safe, and comfortable under her blanket.

She shakes her head, and thumbs through her journal again, letting it distract her.

The blue haired woman’s normally tired expression was gone, replaced by one of fiery passion. She was getting pleasured by the calloused fingers of a rough and tumble mercenary in training. The redhead opened her mouth and- 

Another knock on her door, this time harder. Bernadetta closed the book, bit her lip, and prayed they’d go away. 

They didn’t.

Yet another knock, this time followed by two more. “Bernadetta! I have to speak to you. Let me in.” 

The purple haired girl frowned, unsure of who the voice belonged to. It was pretty, but strong, and worst of all it didn’t sound like it was going to stop yelling at her.

The archer coughed again, louder this time, and still didn’t say anything back. 

“Please?” The voice asked, knocking two more times. 

Bernadetta frowned, grumbling to herself, and tossed the book and quill underneath her blankets. 

She pulled herself up and away from the bed, loosely threw her jacket back on, and opened the door a crack. “I-I said I don’t feel good. Maybe it was something I ate? I think I should-“

“Bernadetta I just saw you twenty minutes ago, stop lying to me.” 

Ah. Oh no. Oh no no no. 

She realized, much too late, who that voiced belonged to; the fierce blonde, from the Blue Lions class, Ingrid... something or other, Bernadetta wasn’t sure about her last name. She was sure that she was in trouble now though; she’d seen the merciless way the taller blonde attacked training dolls and sparring partners alike. 

Bernadetta gulped, and began to wonder if she would be Ingrid’s next victim. 

“Oh, uh, Ingrid. Uh- Hi.” She says, still not opening the door. “Can you-“

“Bernadetta I’m tired of you misbehaving and slacking off! As a fellow member of the officer’s academy, when there’s a war coming no less, we all have our duties! You have to do yours...and I have to do mine.”

Bernadetta didn’t have much time to be confused about what Ingrid meant before, with a slam, her door swung open. With gleaming metal guards on her arms and legs in stalked Ingrid, no weapons but ferocious none the less. 

The word ‘radiant’ even galloped through her mind but her heart was racing so hard in chest it was almost all Bernadetta could focus on, so she had no real time to marvel at how awe inspiring the other girl was, or how beautiful.

Ingrid takes one step in, pushing the door back in place none too gently behind her, and then one more for good measure. 

It was both a mistake, and not, because the room was small (like they all were). Ingrid’s breath was warm and her intentions burned across her face. Bernadetta gulped again because....she was hot. 

Ingrid’s features were long and sharp, like the lance she wielded but there was a gentleness that cut the edges somewhere amongst the current stony expression that decorated them. Her blue eyes were dark and hard and focused right on the archer in a way that was embarrassing and cruel at the same time. 

For each second, and there was many, in the sudden silence between the two of them, Bernadetta found herself fidgeting; clenching and unclenching her fists, rubbing her sweaty palms down the sides of her thighs, rubbing said thighs against each other, or bouncing up and down on her heels. She couldn’t stand still, which was normally something she was great at! 

Perhaps the normally comfortable silence of her room was gone, replaced by a new silence, the type that blanketed the countryside before a storm. The type of silence of two people worked up and shoved into a tight room together; where one person is against her clothing covered chair but still feels the hard wood of it against her back and the other person is only hardly holding onto a torrent of a lecture. Or a torrent of something else all together but Bernadetta was much too occupied by how fast her heart was still beating (was that safe?!) and by the proximity of the other girl to focus on what that proximity could bring. 

Each time she fidgets the lack of space between them roars to life; it’s there when she grinds her heels down into the ground and curls her toes, they brush against the warm leather of Ingrid’s boots. The purple haired girl yelps and it has to be because she’s afraid of being stepped on.

The mere inches between them demands her attention when her hands curl and uncurl and swing back and forth they brush against the warm metal of Ingrid’s forearm guards: no doubt warm from hours in the sun already. The guards are old, definitely borrowed training gear, but they’re shining still and warm, hot even, and Ingrid’s fingers brush against Bernadetta’s and they’re even hotter.

One of them, Bernadetta isn’t sure who, takes a sharp breath in when their fingers touch; Bernadetta’s hands fly to her chest so she can fiddle with her fingers as if they’re not on fire and Ingrid’s peel down, away from where they touched, towards the archer’s stomach, and then they stay there, frozen, not quite touching her but not quite.. not not touching her either. 

Ingrid’s voice, once so stern, falters now, into a quiet apology. “I-I’m sorry for barging in. I didn’t know you were...indecent.” She chokes out, her blue eyes now pinned firmly to the desk.

Bernadetta just about explodes, and she might as well have as a ruby red blush paints itself across her cheeks, down her neck, and even teasing against her shoulders. 

She had forgotten, somewhere along the lines of shining armor and a fierce proud voice, that she was wearing an undershirt and thin underwear and...nothing else. 

She bites her lip, and her own eyes are now pinned directly at Ingrid’s gloved hand that’s still kind of touching her stomach. “I...want...I think.....” her blush smothers anything else she might have said, and made the few words that did get out work for it.

Ingrid coughs, eyes somehow finding them self on Bernadetta’s. “We should, um, train...outside...” she clears her through , a gloved hand coming up to her mouth and hiding her own blush. 

Bernadetta nods, but neither of them move. Silence fills the minuscule space between them again, but this time Bernadetta has something that’s been simmering in her stomach since Ingrid walked in that she wants to say. 

“I-I don’t want to train. Outside. It’s loud and it’s scary and....I want to stay inside....with you...” The smaller girl says, blush deepening its hold on her. 

Ingrid smiles, something small and quiet in equal measure proud and strong, and it feels rare even if Bernadetta can’t say for sure if it is. It feels warm and it makes that simmering feeling in her stomach even hotter and Bernadetta thinks-

Then she isn’t thinking at all as Ingrid closes the mile long minuscule space between them, a gloved hand coming away from Ingrid’s mouth and finding purchase with a fistful of Bernadetta’s hair and dragging the smaller girl close into a kiss as warm and strong as the metal Ingrid wore.

Ingrid’s other hand, finally, presses into the thin fabric of Bernadetta’s shirt, pushing it up and skimming across the archer’s soft skin; the warm leather is fire across her abdomen and Bernadetta shivers into it.

Ingrid pulls away from the kiss slowly, but when she’s done her breath is still gone and her mouth is hanging open in a wide open smile. 

“I-Bernadetta I’m sorry I don’t know what came over me; I swear I just came in here to get you to train I-“ Ingrid’s words are punctured with deep breaths but Bernadetta hangs onto each one. 

“It-it’s okay. I promise.” Bernadetta whispers. “I don’t- I don’t want you to go.” She gulps, nodding slowly, trying her best to help Ingrid soak up each word. 

Ingrid nods back, smiling. “Okay...okay...” she gulps, taking another step forward. Bernadetta gasps as the metal of taller girl’s leg guard rubs between her thighs and she can’t help but rock against it. 

Bernadetta shivers, unsure of all the different feelings running through her, except that they’re all burning her insides and making her dizzy- and soaked.

Her fingers curl into the soft training tunic Ingrid wears and for a moment, feeling the sturdy abs underneath it, regrets not training. However not training somehow for her all of this, so she can’t be too regretful.

She leans forward, already a mess, and kisses Ingrid again, running one hand into the girl’s long blonde hair now as her lips tell kiss her thank you. 

Ingrid grins into the kiss and makes a noise from somewhere deep in her throat, something hard and warm and dark and...it scares Bernadetta, but for some reason that just makes her wetter. She shivers into the taller girl, rubbing herself over the girl’s strong thigh, letting the friction of the harsh old training leathers tease and burn through her underwear.

Bernadetta is about to say something (Thank you? What the hell are we doing? More?) when Ingrid grabs at her ass and squeezes, tugging the thin archer hard against her chest, and Bernadetta thinks of nothing but the hot white flash of pleasure that spiked through her body and pooled down between her thighs.

“A-ah!”

“Did you just whimper?” Ingrid teased, kissing at the small stretch of skin where Bernadetta’s neck and shoulder met. 

“N-no! I don’t know!” Bernadetta whined, grabbing harder at Ingrid’s hair and leaning into her broad chest. The taller girl’s strong hands both now tease down to the archer’s ass. 

“Yes you did!” Ingrid chuckled, gloved hand smacking lightly against the other girl’s bottom. 

“Ah!” This time a whine pierces the quiet without shame of its need or desire. 

“I hardly touched you and you melted!” Ingrid teased, fascinated at the smaller girl. “I never thought you’d be so....naughty.”

Bernadetta sighs, nuzzling into the other woman’s chest. “I never thought you’d break into my room just because I’m behind in training.” She teases, a rush of confidence spilling into a broad smile on her face. 

Ingrid blushes for a second. “I promise I’ll fix it.” She gulps, the rough scratchy leaves of her gloves massaging the other girl’s soft bottom. Then, amidst her groping, a thought dawns on her. 

“Yeah...you are behind on your training aren’t you?” Her voice starts out unsure but as she speaks, and as the plan dawns on Bernadetta’s face, her words become surer and harder- and hotter. 

The purple haired archer nods, gulping. “Y-Yeah.” Is all she can manage to say. 

It’s enough. 

Seconds later they’ve moved and Bernadetta finds herself face down into the mattress, fingers digging into the sheets she found so comfortable. The blonde warrior is off to her side a little bit, a thigh placed under the archer’s waist: keeping her stable and keeping her ass up in the air. 

The rough old leather of Ingrid’s training gloves grope at Bernadetta’s ass, eliciting quiet perverted moans from the girl. “Do you know why you’re about to get this spanking?” Ingrid asks, voice cool and low. 

Bernadetta is thankful her face is in the mattress because it’s never been redder. “D-don’t ask me things like that!! It’s embarrassing!” 

Thwack!

A sharp stinging slap burns against the archer’s ass- the thin underwear she’s wearing doing less then nothing to provide any protection. “Ah!” She yells, thankful for her bed that the noise is muffled. 

“That’s a warm up. Answer my question.” Ingrid says, and Bernadetta can swear the girl is grinning. Ingrid’s gloved hand continues to grope at her ass, teasing against the spot she just spanked.

“Ah! I-I!” Another smack to her ass cuts off her frustrated mumbling and replaces it with a drawn out whine. 

“I’m getting spanked because I skipped training!” She yells, feeling like she’ll explode from humiliation and hormones and all the heat coursing through her body. 

“That’s a good girl.” Ingrid says, kissing along the exposed pale skin of Bernadetta’s back, her shirt having ridden up to bundle up at her shoulders. 

Ingrid’s hand, covered in the thick leather of the gloves, smacks hard against the curve of the archer’s ass; right where there meets bottom. She admits she’s embarrassed by how dry it makes her mouth- all words and even saliva have disappeared. All her mouth can do is tightly hold the thrill she’s feeling.

Her hand however can work really hard. She brings down another burning smack to the same spot on the other girl’s rear; marveling at how fast it’s gotten so pink. She runs her gloved fingers up Bernadetta’s ass, over her panties, and smacks down right in the middle of her right cheek. Then her left. Then right over the middle of her ass. 

Each smack leaves a mark that brightens Bernadetta’s bottom, a singing pink that can be seen through her white underwear. They burn and they hurt and each one sends a jolt of fire right to her pussy. 

She’s gasping and crying and moaning and by the goddess she’s drooling! The embarrassment streaks through her, corrupting and burning every inch of her body- but she can feel herself getting slicker by the second. The pleasure was stronger than the shame.

The goddess knows she’s ashamed though, but she’s never been more thankful somebody’s barged into her room. 

Another smack against the curve of her ass drags her back into the moment, then another one and she finds her toes curling against the wooden floor. Her thighs slide against each other as her ass dances over Ingrid’s strong knee.

Ingrid’s fingers, soft and smooth and long, slide over the edge of her underwear. 

(When had the gloves come off?)

Her breath is husky and dark as she asks: “Can I take these off?” Her thumbs slip under the waistband of Bernadetta’s white underwear, waiting for the go ahead.

“Yes.”

The answer is quiet, hardly audible against the choked out (and pleasure filled) whines against the sheets, but Ingrid hears it echoing in her head like trumpets.

Yes

As she tugs down the smaller girl’s panties, in a singular motion that leaves them suspended between her knees.

Yes

At the sight of them, glistening with the slick evidence of Bernadetta’s pleasure.

Yes

When Bernadetta’s folds tease open at the slightest pressure of Ingrid’s finger, and yes when her body is tight and warm and hungry for Ingrid’s and no- Ingrid didn’t give a damn who heard the music they made together. 

When it all came down to it, no she wasn’t mad Bernadetta skipped training. 

Maybe Ingrid would even have to start doing it too; she could start to really see the appeal to the darkness of the bedroom.


End file.
